Heroes and villains: Derek Randall

The man who called himself 'Rags' was one of cricket's true eccentrics. He could bat a bit as well. Michael Barrett recalls the proud son of Nottingham who defied a snarling Dennis Lillee to play one of the greatest innings in Test history

17 March 1977, 4am. I slip silently downstairs. I am 12. My parents' radio is a comically large wooden box, with a woven-silk front that does little to muffle the crackles as I turn it on. Randall is still in - and he has made a century. England may yet achieve an unlikely victory.

Tony Greig's England, humiliated by West Indies during the long, hot summer of 1976, were on their way back from a redemptive winter tour in India. Australia were close to the top of their game. Dennis Lillee was at his best. Many of the game's greats were in Melbourne. Randall dined with his Nottinghamshire heroes, Harold Larwood and Bill Voce, on the eve of the match. The Queen turned up. Don Bradman, too.

England started well, dismissing the Aussies for 138, before being bowled out for 95. Australia's second innings was masterful. The young (and now sadly late) David Hookes hit Greig for five successive fours, on his way to 56. A century from wicketkeeper Rod Marsh put Australia into a seemingly unassailable position, 462 ahead.

When Randall came out to bat, alongside Mike Brearley, the score was 28 for one. His innings would be remarkable for its audacity and its humour. The snarling Lillee had no answer to the jumpy little fidget. In the first innings, Randall had infuriated Lillee by doffing his cap to him after a vicious bouncer. 'No good hitting me there, mate,' he called out, 'nothing to damage.' Another brutal, short-pitched delivery now floored the helmetless joker. Randall simply rose to his feet and saluted Lillee. By the time he was out, England needed just 116 to win, with five wickets in hand. The tail, alas, was no match for Lillee and England lost by 45 runs, the same margin of defeat as in the first Test between the teams 100 years earlier.

Derek Randall would never play again as well as he did during that wonderful Test in Melbourne. His international career was, in truth, one of largely unfulfilled promise. The selectors never trusted in his talent and did little to help him settle into the side, capriciously moving him up and down the order, from one to seven. When, during the 1984 West Indies tour, he was dismissed by Joel Garner for nought and one in the first Test at Edgbaston, the door closed. We would never again have the pleasure of watching the man who called himself 'Rags' - so frequently did he find himself improvising kit as well as shots - play for England.

How good was Randall? He excelled as a club cricketer at Retford and joined Notts in 1970; he made his debut for the full county side three years later. He played his first one-day games for England in 1976 and was picked for the 1976-77 tour of India, from where he moved on to Melbourne. Long after his England career ended he continued to play for his beloved Notts, finally retiring in 1993. He remains one of the county's most revered sons.

But a Test average of 33 suggests that he was not one of the best batsmen. His technique was certainly flawed. Yet he could be brilliant, with a thrilling gift for improvisation. He was a nervous starter - and that troubled the selectors. The man himself claims that a relatively short reach made him vulnerable outside off stump, so he shuffled across to compensate. Lillee quipped that his own difficulties against Randall stemmed from problems inherent in hitting a moving target.

But once his eye was in, he was difficult to dislodge. In 1979, in the fourth Test at Sydney, England second-innings wickets were tumbling and Australia looked set to square the series. But Randall, batting in temperatures of more than 100 degrees, spent over nine hours compiling a match-winning 150. He gibbered to himself wildly throughout: 'Come on, Rags'; 'Concentrate, England needs you'. Endless banter was part of his game, but not the truculence and obscenities of the modern sledger. In that sublime innings of 1977, Randall gave Lillee a running commentary as he hooked, cut and pulled, or even headed a bouncer. 'That were a good one, Mr Lillee!' he would shout, laughing as he staggered back to the crease.

It was often noted that Randall compensated for a modest batting average by saving at least 20 runs an innings through his agility in the field. His fielding in the covers was indeed sensational and, because of his speed, he was nicknamed Arkle, after the race horse. He could swoop and throw in one fluid movement - and more often than not hit the stumps.

Today, a gifted self-publicist such as Kevin Pietersen can swiftly become a millionaire through smart marketing. Randall never made much money from cricket but, equally, he never allowed himself to be bought. He never played as a 'rebel' in apartheid South Africa, nor did he join the gaudy circus that was Kerry Packer's World Series. Instead, he remained loyal to England and Notts.

Randall now works as a cricket coach at Bedford School and, not so long ago, played for Suffolk in a NatWest Trophy match. I like to think of him as a cricketer from another age: an eccentric, a showman, a patriot and, above all, an honest professional. There has never been anyone quite like him, nor will his innings in the Centenary Test ever be forgotten.

· Michael Barrett is a writer and senior lecturer at Glasgow University